☠ 028

[molotov]

[When Molotov's room changed, cold wind blew the door straight off its hinges, sending little blasts of snow out after it.

Stepping in, you find yourself in a frozen forest, one that seems endless. It's chilly, but not cold, though there's snow and ice covering everything. When you first walk in, the sky is blue and bright, but as you continue further in, the forest begins to darken: the sky slowly turns grey, and the trees get more dense and intimidating.

As the branches start to hang down into the path, you might notice something on the ground. The splotches get bigger and darker, until what you're looking at is obvious. In some areas, there is no more white on the path -- only red.

This is the point where particularly observant adventurers might hear the very distant sounds of gunfire, far enough away that it's barely audible. Also far in the distance are the silhouettes of bodies, hanging from the trees. They are far enough away that they're indistinguishable, unless you feel inclined to fight your way through an ominous and increasingly unnavigable forest (which you must do if you stray from the path).

Follow the set course long enough, and you'll eventually stumble upon a clearing. In the center of the clearing, there's a large dacha. This area is significantly warmer than the rest of the forest, though the ice and the snow remains, forever unmelting.

Molotov is inside the dacha, incredibly comfortable in her own mind. Despite the large size of the house, the interior seems to be one large room, aside from a separate kitchen and bathroom. The design inside is more lush than one might think of someone who was raised so devotedly Communist. On the furthest wall, there's an enormous golden skull with a heart-shaped eyepatch -- this area is the most simple and obvious. A twenty-foot tall Blackhearts Logo serves as a headboard for a large bed. The three other walls are plastered with the repeated image of a man in Soviet uniform. This is Molotov's father, always watching her. The rest of the dacha is fairly normal, if minimalist. The only other exception is the rug in front of a massive fireplace; instead of a bearskin rug, it's most definitely the hide of Brock Samson. Under her feet, just like he should be.

But only you know if you can make it that far.]



[ OOC: Feel free to stray off the path, too! If you do, ~danger and excitement~ await you. Of course, you can always just head straight to Molotov in her cozy little dacha. ]

Comments

[fumidus.livejournal.com]

[This is a rather different place than he's used to- never having left the tropical setting that was the island, he never had the pleasure of being somewhere during the winter before. As he walks along, he's awfully intrigued by the bloodstains. A violent mind, huh? He turns his head towards the sound of gunfire and listens, taking it in.]

[And then he walks towards it, curious as to what in the world is happening over in that direction.]

[molotov]

[As he leaves the path, he should notice that the forest immediately begins to dim even more, the tree branches tangling to block out most of the light that filters down from the sky. It's not pitch black, though, and he can continue on if he wishes.

About twenty feet into the forest, the snow on the ground becomes heavy and wet and thick, like walking through freshly laid cement. The blood atop it grows darker and more abundant -- and more recent.

There is a sharp snap as a branch breaks. Something is here.]

[fumidus.livejournal.com]

[Ah, and the darkness starts to come out. He continues, since nothing really scares him- what could kill a man who is really made of smoke? He grumbles slightly at the mushy snow, and keeps going, but not before he hears the snap of the twig.]

[The man turns, listening, watching, his cold eyes sweeping the area. Whoever was that, he was sure they weren't going to make themselves visible just because he stopped in place.]

[He lets out a huff, and talks out loud, trying to sound as friendly as possible:]

Come on out. I'm not going to harm you.

[molotov]

[Perhaps he thought he was going to see some kind of manifestation of Molotov's childhood, or representations of people who were important to her, wandering around in the snow.

No, that is wrong. Absolutely wrong.

Instead, a blood-stained polar bear, enormous and furious, emerges from the trees, and charges at the man, roaring. He has about two seconds to notice that the bear has the hammer and sickle reflected in its eyes.]

[knifestorm.livejournal.com]

[feeling quite under-dressed for the weather conditions (baww, long sleeves, how she misses those), Sakuya's examining the bloodstains curiously]

(These seem quite new. I wonder what could've caused them?)

[molotov]

[There isn't an answer. Molotov's mind isn't the kind that will just give away information! Sakuya is free, however, to try and find some, by either entering the forest, or by continuing along the path.]

[knifestorm.livejournal.com]

[there is only so much forensic ability a maid is capable of, so she ventures into the forest, keeping an eye out for predators]

[echivoc.livejournal.com]

[He sure did trek through the snow and moved away from the bloodstains to get to this dacha, yep. What kind of craziness is going on in your mind, Molotov?

Into the dacha, oh, look, Molotov's logo. The man in uniform reminds Cross of one particular inspector back home, except he has the ugliest mustache. Ah, well. He vaguely wonders if this is that guy that was a dog the other day, or her father she spoke about. Or maybe it is just a random guy and she likes men in uniform!

He is thinking too much about this. Time to go find Molotov~]

[molotov]

[None of your business, Marian, that's what kind of craziness! Also, stop looking at Papa Cocktease. He was a great man, and he does not deserve to be stared at by magic-using cheaters!

After a few moments, Molotov steps out of the separate bathroom, her hair wet on the shoulders of her bathrobe. Everyone has to bathe! She doesn't seem particularly perturbed to see Cross; if anything, she seems happier and more comfortable in this place than she does regularly.]

Hello, Mr. Marian. Would you like anything to drink?

[echivoc.livejournal.com]

[Oh whatever, Molotov, he will stare as much as he pleases.

Being addressed as "Mr. Marian" totally catches him off-guard, especially her much more relaxed state.]

Molotov, "Cross" is just fine. And sure.

[icarustattoo.livejournal.com]

[Why. is he doing this. This is probably the last place on Earth (the last place on Paradisa?) that Brock should be in. He knew Molotov was one effed-up little lady, and going through her mind and shit was not going to improve his opinion of her.

Particularly all these things? On the walls? What the hell.

And the ... rug ...]

What the fuck!

[molotov]

[Well, he didn't have to come inside! He could have stayed out in the snow with the blood and the polar bear and the dead bodies in the trees, you know.

When she hears him, Molotov pokes her head out of the kitchen, then smiles serenely. She's so happy here!]

Hello, Samson! Make yourself at home.

[icarustattoo.livejournal.com]

[Yes, blood and snow and polar bears are something Brock has encountered before. He feels right at home!

Anyway, what -- no serene looks, that shit is not allowed. Brock just glares!!! at her, and stomps over.]

I can't, because there is a me on your floor.

[fumidus.livejournal.com]

[This is a rather different place than he's used to- never having left the tropical setting that was the island, he never had the pleasure of being somewhere during the winter before. As he walks along, he's awfully intrigued by the bloodstains. A violent mind, huh? He turns his head towards the sound of gunfire and listens, taking it in.]

[And then he walks towards it, curious as to what in the world is happening over in that direction.]

[molotov]

[As he leaves the path, he should notice that the forest immediately begins to dim even more, the tree branches tangling to block out most of the light that filters down from the sky. It's not pitch black, though, and he can continue on if he wishes.

About twenty feet into the forest, the snow on the ground becomes heavy and wet and thick, like walking through freshly laid cement. The blood atop it grows darker and more abundant -- and more recent.

There is a sharp snap as a branch breaks. Something is here.]

[fumidus.livejournal.com]

[Ah, and the darkness starts to come out. He continues, since nothing really scares him- what could kill a man who is really made of smoke? He grumbles slightly at the mushy snow, and keeps going, but not before he hears the snap of the twig.]

[The man turns, listening, watching, his cold eyes sweeping the area. Whoever was that, he was sure they weren't going to make themselves visible just because he stopped in place.]

[He lets out a huff, and talks out loud, trying to sound as friendly as possible:]

Come on out. I'm not going to harm you.

[knifestorm.livejournal.com]

[feeling quite under-dressed for the weather conditions (baww, long sleeves, how she misses those), Sakuya's examining the bloodstains curiously]

(These seem quite new. I wonder what could've caused them?)

[molotov]

[There isn't an answer. Molotov's mind isn't the kind that will just give away information! Sakuya is free, however, to try and find some, by either entering the forest, or by continuing along the path.]

[knifestorm.livejournal.com]

[there is only so much forensic ability a maid is capable of, so she ventures into the forest, keeping an eye out for predators]

[echivoc.livejournal.com]

[He sure did trek through the snow and moved away from the bloodstains to get to this dacha, yep. What kind of craziness is going on in your mind, Molotov?

Into the dacha, oh, look, Molotov's logo. The man in uniform reminds Cross of one particular inspector back home, except he has the ugliest mustache. Ah, well. He vaguely wonders if this is that guy that was a dog the other day, or her father she spoke about. Or maybe it is just a random guy and she likes men in uniform!

He is thinking too much about this. Time to go find Molotov~]

[molotov]

[None of your business, Marian, that's what kind of craziness! Also, stop looking at Papa Cocktease. He was a great man, and he does not deserve to be stared at by magic-using cheaters!

After a few moments, Molotov steps out of the separate bathroom, her hair wet on the shoulders of her bathrobe. Everyone has to bathe! She doesn't seem particularly perturbed to see Cross; if anything, she seems happier and more comfortable in this place than she does regularly.]

Hello, Mr. Marian. Would you like anything to drink?

[echivoc.livejournal.com]

[Oh whatever, Molotov, he will stare as much as he pleases.

Being addressed as "Mr. Marian" totally catches him off-guard, especially her much more relaxed state.]

Molotov, "Cross" is just fine. And sure.

[icarustattoo.livejournal.com]

[Why. is he doing this. This is probably the last place on Earth (the last place on Paradisa?) that Brock should be in. He knew Molotov was one effed-up little lady, and going through her mind and shit was not going to improve his opinion of her.

Particularly all these things? On the walls? What the hell.

And the ... rug ...]

What the fuck!

[molotov]

[Well, he didn't have to come inside! He could have stayed out in the snow with the blood and the polar bear and the dead bodies in the trees, you know.

When she hears him, Molotov pokes her head out of the kitchen, then smiles serenely. She's so happy here!]

Hello, Samson! Make yourself at home.

[icarustattoo.livejournal.com]

[Yes, blood and snow and polar bears are something Brock has encountered before. He feels right at home!

Anyway, what -- no serene looks, that shit is not allowed. Brock just glares!!! at her, and stomps over.]

I can't, because there is a me on your floor.